At the Confluenceby Hope Jordan
Trucks rumble-cross Route 4 where rivers
come together. Water detonates when a boy jumps
off the railroad bridge. There are no significant rivers
in the province of Kenya where Jibril lived
half his life in refugee camps. An empty bean can rolls
on a surface pocked by raindrops. Jibril swam
to the rescue. Grass beside the path spikes
dry and lavender. Freshwater clamshells stacked
like cemetery stones. The river curls
in its socket, shallowing with leaves that roil
and tumble into next year’s mud.
The river reflects an older sky,
blueberries the colors of rocks.
Insects percolate, summer subsides. They closed
the flow to find the bodies. Women, mourning,
wore hijabs in the humid sun.